


Not In My Neighborhood, Motherfickler

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Graffiti, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:55:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anonymous asked: requesting "i walk in on you correcting people’s misspelled bathroom graffiti au" with klaine :)))<br/>and i changed it a little bit ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kurt is used to the graffitis in the hall of his building.

Some are really artistic, and he religiously takes pictures of them to put on his wall--what’s the use of having an apparent brick wall if he doesn’t use it to create his very own urban décor, right?

And some are just really crude, but those Kurt learns quickly to just not see them.

He didn’t expect the scene awaiting for him when he comes home that afternoon, though.

The crude graffiti has been on the wall facing the door for a couple of days, and nobody in the building seems to know who it’s addressed to, or who did it.

“Eat my ass,” really, that’s just immature.

But that’s not what surprises Kurt. No, it’s the neighbor--the cute one from 21D, who just moved in and offered to every neighbor around his apartment a little bag with two cookies and a pair of earplugs to apologize for his constant piano rehearsing (Kurt has taken the cookies, but he has no need for the earplugs, those covers are a delight)--carefully applying paint around the words.

Is he …?

No, he can’t be.

Someone as classy cannot be responsible for something as poor as an invitation to eat his ass.

That being said, that’s one invitation Kurt would not deny.

What, he has eyes.

Eyes that are drawn to the Dapper Pianoman’s backside as he bends over just a little as he keeps on spraying black paint.

What the fuck is he doing?

He added a “C” before the “ass”, ok, “cass”--not making much sense, Pianoman, come on, don’t be losing your marbles on me, you’re too cute for the cuckoo’s nest …

Oh, okay, moving on--look at that ass pass that “ASS” …

Kurt tilts his head to the side, trying to focus on the tagging work and not on the tagger’s body.

E.

R.

O-oh the little shit!

Kurt bites on his[ lower lip](http://38.media.tumblr.com/887edf85878816a090f24b991129faaa/tumblr_mjusj3eXMg1s823ndo1_400.gif) to keep from laughing aloud, and he resists the impulse to applaud the cheekiness of his neighbor.

Cute, with an ass to die for and witty?

Sign me up.

A little loop into the L, adorable, and a finale E that resembles the first E tagged by the first, crude tagger.

“And voilà,” Cute Little Shit says, a satisfied smile on his face as he observes his handy work, hands on his hips--as if Kurt needed to be prompted to look around that area anyway--, “not in my neighborhood.”

And that, Kurt cannot resist.

“The hero we needed,” he says, perhaps a touch too loudly if the semi-somersault his neighbor does is any indication. “Not necessarily the one we deserve,” he adds with a tilt of the head in respect.

Cute Little Shit recovers quickly from his surprise and he takes a superhero pose with the black paint bomb. “Nightbird, protecting Bushwick from vulgarity.”

Kurt lets himself get transported by his neighbor’s dorkiness, and affects a superhero’s girlfriend typical pose of admiration and distress. “Oh Blackbird, what would I do without you?”

That makes his neighbor raise one eyebrow and smirk at him--and Gosh, that should not be as arousing as it is. “Never fear, my dear,” CLS replies, deepening his voice (oh my God I’m melting), “Blackbird will never leave your side.”

“That’s a bit stalkery isn’t it?” Kurt replies, trying to gather himself back again.

CLS drops the act and smiles shyly at him. “It really is. Hi,” he continues, coming closer to Kurt with one hand held up, “I’m Blaine, 21D.”

“Kurt, 3H.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine continues, pointing his free hand at the tag, “but there are kids in the building and I just--”

“Not in your neighborhood,” Kurt completes, finally (and regretfully) letting go of Blaine’s hand.

“Exactly.”

They stand next to each other for a minute, tension spreading around them like a wet, uncomfortable blanket, and Kurt decides to just--

Go for it.

“Speaking of casserole,” he says nonchalantly, “I’m having a potluck dinner with some friends tonight. Would you--”

“Yes.”

It’s Kurt’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “How forward of you, Nightbird,” he comments as Blaine opens wide eyes, “who’s to say if I am not an Evil bad guy luring you to my lair with promises of potlucks and whatnots?”

Blaine takes a step closer, to the point where their chests are just an hair from touching. “I wouldn’t mind,” he whispers before sauntering away. “See you tonight, then?”

Kurt stays there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water. “Y-yeah, yeah see … see you tonight.”

What the Hell just happened?

The little shit.

 

 


	2. Blaine's POV

Of all the boroughs, Blaine didn’t think he would feel so at home in Brooklyn, and yet, here he is.

In his little building that used to be a brewery, Blaine has found “his” place, his neighborhood.

Speaking of which, the neighbors have made him and his piano very welcome in the building--the only hiccup came from Mrs. Skop, but Blaine and the young mom quickly found an understanding, Blaine rehearsing only when she taps 3 times against the wall, letting him know that young Frederick is awake anyway.

Now, really, Blaine loves his environment.

And this has absolutely nothing to do with the 3H tenant--nickname Fashionably Fuckable in the recess of Blaine’s mind.

Blaine has yet to see the man looking anything but like a fashion engraving, and he has seen him coming home from what looked like a workout.

How is that fair, Blaine wonders as he munches on his [Fiery Fusion Cheetos](http://forums.egullet.org/uploads/monthly_08_2011/post-9387-0-95929000-1314047700.jpg), he doesn’t know, but he is just a teensy bit ashamed to use the man’s … everything, for his private, South of the Belt, me-time.

And he tries emulating him by taking up running every other morning.

Which is why Blaine is probably the first tenant of the building who finds the offensive graffiti.

“ _Eat my ass_ ”, really. That’s just crude.

Not that Blaine would be opposed to eat a certain ass, but that’s clearly not the point.

Fashionably Fuckable would not resort to tagging.

His handwriting is probably lovely too, because that’s the way things are.

But back to topic.

There are children in the building, Blaine muses, children that can read, children that should not be submitted to that kind of vulgarity.

_Not on my watch._

The sentence pops up in Blaine’s mind, and he has the irrepressible need to pull out his old vigilante costume out of the closet.

_Not in my neighborhood._

Blaine knows what he has to do, and he’s back out again to go and buy a bottle of spray paint.

\---

Fuck, tagging is harder than he thought.

Blaine focuses, his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he writes the C, good, that’s … well, passable.

Moving on after the “ass”, an E, an R, an O--

Blaine feels like there is someone watching, but he might as well finish now.

\--an L, a little loop because otherwise, where is the fun, right, and an E.

“And voilà,” he says to himself as he straightens up, “not in my neighborhood, mother--,” he just corrected the graffiti for its vulgarity, not swearing now, “--fickler.”

“The hero we needed,” comes from behind me, and Blaine very nearly brains himself on the wall. “Not necessarily the one we deserve,” the voice adds and Blaine turns to look at the newcomer.

Of course it’s FF.

Blaine can’t help it, his dorky side takes over when he faces a crush, it’s a curse really. So he takes his best Superhero pose and tilts his head upwards--he knows what it does to his profile, thank you very much. “Nightbird, protecting Bushwick from vulgarity.”

Much to his surprise, the object of his crush makes for a very convincing … don in distress--good God, if the man is even half as dorky as Blaine can be, it must mean they are soulmates (or something)--, clutching his chest with one hand and swooning with the other. “Oh Nightbird, what would I do without you?” he exclaims, and Blaine keeps himself from moving forward, sweeping his neighbor into an embrace and kissing him into the sunset.

So what if it is only 4.11pm?

Instead, he raises one eyebrow and lets his smile turn into a smirk--it may look cocky, sure, but it fits the situation. And if anything, it seems to work on FF so …

“Never fear, my dear,” Blaine says in his best imitation of Batman, “Nightbird will never leave your side.”

His neighbor straightens up and cocks his head to the side--gosh it’s adorable. “That’s a bit stalkery, isn’t it?”

Blaine feels bashful all of a sudden, brought back to reality as it is, scratching his nose and smiling tentatively at FF. “It really is.” Taking a deep breath--because there goes his second chance at a first impression--Blaine holds his hand up like the proper gentleman his mother raised. “Hi, I’m Blaine, 21D.”

His neighbor moves closer to shake his hand--oh, soft, so soft--and smiles at him. “Kurt, 3H.”

Blaine bites down on the “I know” that threatens to pour out of his mouth, and tries to find a distraction. Ah, found it. “I’m sorry about that”, he says, pointing at the graffiti, “but there are kids in the building and I just--”

There, he flounders a little--how is he supposed to justify the action?--but Kurt seems to be on his wavelength as he lets go of Blaine’s hand.

“Not in your neighborhood,” he supplies, and Blaine beams at him.

“Exactly.”

The awkward tension makes a comeback as they remain silent, side by side, and Blaine searches his brain for a thing to say, to do, to offer, something anything will do at this point--

“Speaking of casserole,” Kurt starts and Blaine snaps his head towards him. He can tell that Kurt is trying to look carefree and all blasé, but there is a slight tremor in his voice that gives his nerves away. “I’m having a potluck dinner with some friends tonight. Would you--”

Whatever was going to complete that sentence is swallowed by Blaine’s abrupt “yes.”

God he’s such an idiot.

Kurt raises one eyebrow at him and his mouth quirks into a … crooked smirk. “How forward of you, Nightbird,” he says slowly, and yep, Blaine is gone, that’s it--Kurt is as dorky as he is, and he’s fun, and nice, and so, so very fuckable, wow. “Who’s to say if I am not an Evil bad guy luring you to my lair with promises of potlucks and whatnots?”

_Oh god yes please._

Blaine’s mind provides a whole array of possibilities, if they were into roleplay, with Kurt slowly torturing Blaine on the brink of orgasm and back and back again and back and--

_Oh this it._

Blaine takes a step closer, just enough to really invade Kurt’s personal space but without encaging him. “I wouldn’t mind,” he whispers, feeling more confident as Kurt’s breathing halts and a new flush takes over his cheeks.

Moving away from Kurt with a self-satisfied smile, Blaine starts climbing up the stairs. “See you tonight then?”

Kurt blinks a couple of times, and opens his mouth before closing it, and opening it again. “Y-yeah, yeah see … see you tonight.”

Blaine turns and keeps on going up, throwing a last glance behind him. Kurt is still frozen on the spot, his hands fiddling with his scarf to rearrange it as Kurt’s eyes stay on Blaine.

Fashionable, Fuckable just Foolish enough to be on Blaine’s level?

Blaine knew that moving to Brooklyn would be the key to his happiness.

 


End file.
